Frank's Tattoo
by alondrabermudez
Summary: By the end, Frank thought for a moment, and then made a declaration. "I'm getting a tattoo." (One shot)


Thought about this during my 40th time of watching Rocky. Enjoy this trash!

...

Frank had finally noticed it when he had Columbia pinned on her stomach one night.

It was shortly after dinner when they playfully chased each other up the stairs, clothes already being hurriedly stripped off of their frames by the time the back of Columbia's knees hit the bed and she was roughly pushed down onto it.

Columbia moaned his name delightfully, but suddenly whined in protest when Frank rolled off of her.

"Hey, why'd ya stop?" Her voice hinted at annoyance.

"What is that?" Frank ignored her question by asking one of his own.

(A more important one, he believed.)

He pointed to the artwork that decorated her lower back.

She followed Frank's curious gaze and finally realized what he had been alluding to. Her tattoo. Her lame tramp stamp she drunkenly decided she desperately needed to have. It was a mediocre drawn pair of red painted lips, with the words "luscious" written in cursive underneath it. Columbia vaguely remembers sneaking out with her friends one night to a bustling city right outside of Denton, drinking and dancing until she couldn't even make out who happened to be grinding on her in the middle of the packed, dimly lit club. She remembers the smell of aftershave and whiskey. She also remembers the burning, sore sensation on her lower back the morning after.

Columbia shivered at the memory and cast a glance to an awaiting Frank.

"Oh, Frankie, it's just a dumb ole' tattoo I got a couple years ago. Nothin' special. Now come on, go back to making me feel _real_ good-"

"How did you get this?" He interrupted her, running his manicured fingers over this so called "tattoo" that's gotten him so fascinated. He's never seen a design quite like this, _especially_ on a body part, no less. The sight of it is intriguing him, and he must learn the history and all of its context to this peculiar human custom.

Columbia furred her brows in confusion, opening her mouth to squeak out another protest, when she suddenly remembered that Frank wasn't normal. He wasn't even _human_.

Columbia had been cooped up in the castle for four weeks by the time she was informed about the truth of who these beings really are. At first she completely dismissed the idea; it sounded ludicrous to her. But then she was stunned to silence when they demonstrated the antimatter ray on an innocent unsuspecting passerby. Frightened, she complied with their demands of keeping this sort of revelation to herself. A few more weeks in the castle and Columbia grew used to the strange aliens, even as far as considering them close as family. A family whom she can fuck on occasion - Frank and Magenta - and a family whom she can avoid at all costs - Riff Raff.

Now, she found it rather adorable how Frank knew close to nothing about how humans live outside of this dreary castle. She had taught him some useful facts, but teaching Frank the art of tattooing will be a whole lot of wonderful.

Columbia sat up in her spot and faced Frank with a huge goofy grin plastered on her pretty face. He waited almost impatiently for the teaching part of this kind of conversation they sometimes had.

Frank sort of liked learning about new human things from Columbia, because she was always so ecstatic and energetic to the point of it being contagious, often leading Frank into a very good mood (Usually then led to a very good fuck).

She raddled off into a long lecture of what and how tattoos are, including her little anecdote of how she experienced hers, all the while keeping Frank truly engrossed and amused.

By the end, Frank thought for a moment, and then made a declaration.

"I'm getting a tattoo."

...

Like any other day, Magenta lazily ran a feather duster over the railing of the stairs, while Riff Raff, whom leaned on the banister, purposefully tried to distract her with not so innocent flirting. He's succeeding, for the most part.

"Tonight, my darling, the moon will cast a brilliant stream of light and it will still only pale in comparison to how you will look, writhing and quivering in pleasure," Riff predicted, rather smug.

Magenta smirked at the sentiment, not meeting his eyes in defiance. She sustained her chore; poorly, for that matter.

"Oh, but on the contrary, dear brother," she said, her voice low and sultry, "it'll be you vrithing in pleasure." She let out a small husky laugh and finally locked eyes with those blue orbs that never ceased to send a shiver down her spine.

The two continued on with their usual playful banter, blissfully unaware of the new mission Frank proposed for himself and his housemates. They almost missed the sound of his heels clacking down the stairs in entitlement, passing the courting siblings, Columbia following closely behind.

"Riff Raff," he proclaimed in a booming voice, "prepare the truck, for we are making a trip into Denton."

Riff Raff's grin shrank into a frown, as he addressed Frank's order. "Yes, master."

He passed Frank, whom awaited at the bottom of the stairs, and slipped out of the door in search of the truck.

Frank-in his normal attire consisting of a black dazzling corset, black underwear, fish nets, jewel studded heels, and a black bikers jacket-stood with his back to the door, gazing intently at an anticipated Columbia, before his eyes shifted to the domestic who still resided silently on the stairs, the feather duster loosely held in her hands.

"Oh, Magenta," he finally acknowledged her, "you may come as well." His smile never leaving his face.

Magenta merely nodded before Columbia squealed again in excitement, locking arms with the less than amused maid. She harshly recoiled her arm from the groupies grasp, dropped the feather duster onto a step, made her way down the stairs and out the door. Columbia stuck out her bottom lip, quivering in sadness. Frank sighed at the display of action and held out his hand for Columbia to grab and hold.

 _Those two_ , Frank thought, _need to get much better acquainted outside of the bedroom._

At least they speak at all. Back when Columbia first stepped foot into the castle-before she was even _Columbia_ -the domestic avoided the new squeaky girl like the plague. Magenta thought that this new play thing would be like all of the others; thoroughly fucked, then gone before a fresh coat of dust accumulates on the barely touched mantle by the front door. But this practical _child_ stuck around much longer than that. Magenta decided that this human girl was at least worth a trying to. That is, until Frank virtually kicked Columbia out of his room and made her move into Magenta's against their own will. That's when the complete avoidance became petty bickering.

Like sisters, they fought constantly. Typically it was whenever Magenta was trying (or half-heartedly attempting, but failing) to attend to a chore, and Columbia (being bored and restless) trailed behind and lingered like a lost puppy. Magenta found it annoying rather than endearing, always calling out the younger girl for her obnoxious tapping and irritating sighs of weariness. Columbia would always argue back, her snarky tongue spitting back insults and complaints. Back and forward, it would continue until either Riff Raff or Frank intervened, and that was normally when things escalated into shoutings and screams.

Eventually, however, unbeknown to Frank, the girls ceased their violent arguments and began tolerating the other in a more positive way. No more shouting matches, but the slight bitterness and insults were still thrown around occasionally. Frank wouldn't have known them to be sexual lovers, had he not overheard them one night while he was walking past their shared bedroom. Surprisingly he has yet to join in on their late night escapades, but he certainly has plans for it.

Frank heard the sound of the truck's horn. He led Columbia out and to the awaiting truck that sat idly by the opened gate. Columbia jumped into the back seat with Magenta, while Frank slipped into the front passenger seat next to Riff Raff, whom sat behind the wheel.

"Where to exactly, master?" Asked the handyman, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Drive towards Denton, then follow Columbia's directions." Frank answered, fishing into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and placing them on.

"We're in for a treat, isn't that right Columbia, baby?"

"Yeah, Frankie, it's gonna be real neat!"

Magenta rolled her eyes darkly, while Riff Raff pulled out of the drive way and onto the poorly paved road heading straight for the sleepy town of Denton.

...

Thankfully, the tattoo parlor was still open. And empty.

Frank strutted in with his servants and groupie surrounding him, like an entourage of sorts. The boy heading the front desk almost choked on the sight of these beings.

It was truly a grand entrance, and a freakish vision. They resembled much of an alternative band. The front runner up, the most fabulous of the group (Frank); his two gothic side mates who assist him and steer him (Riff and Magenta); and his number one fan, who fawns over the ground he walks on (Columbia).

"Good evening, my dear boy," he says, his hands on his hips and his eyes on his target, "I would like a _tattoo_." His voice purposefully drawls out the word tattoo, still foreign on his tongue.

The young man (who could barely be over 18) darted his eyes over every one of them, visibly stunned to almost speechlessness. Frank cleared his throat to reach his full attention.

"Oh, uh, yeah sure thing, man," he barely stuttered out, "what'd ya want?"

Columbia skipped over to the table and flipped through the many pages of a design book that resided on it. "Look, Frankie! There's lots ta choose from. Come see!"

While Frank and Columbia squealed over potentials, Magenta and Riff Raff remained by the entrance with hard, stoic stares. Clearly unamused, clearly done with everything.

"How dreadful this place is," Magenta finally commented. Riff grunted in agreement.

"Vhy vould the master vant to comply vith this human convention?" She inquired, rather bored and disgusted with the whole situation.

Columbia took it upon herself to explain this whole tattoo business to the siblings during their trip to this parlor, with some excited inputs from Frank himself. Why he should ever be enthused by all of this, she would never know.

"Hey, Mags!" Columbia called for Magenta's attention.

The domestic turned toward the taller girl and starred daggers. Being used to the domestics mood and personality, Columbia barely noticed or even cared.

"Come look at some of these! Ya might like some of em and get em yourself."

Magenta forced a laugh mockingly, shaking her head at the statement. "Fuck no." She said.

Columbia left it at that.

After several moments, Frank's eyes lit up at the sight of one particular design.

It was of a red painted heart with a knife stabbing through, and the word "Boss" written over it. He chuckled manically to himself.

"Oh, yes," he pointed to the design for Columbia to see, "this'll do quite nicely."

The groupie cried in joy, wildly gesturing for the servants to walk over and to see the winning pick that would adorn Frank's body. Magenta and Riff Raff moped over, their existing mood never changing, even after eyeing the artwork.

"Well?" Frank waited for some sort of praise from the duo.

"Stunning, master. It'll suit you vell." Magenta said in monotone, feigning interest. Riff Raff nodded.

Frank smirked at the statement, turning back towards the boy and shoving the book into his scrawny arms. "This one, big boy. And don't fuck it up."

The boy nodded hastily, running to the back in search of his employer who performed the actual tattooing.

After less than a couple of minutes of waiting, Frank was all set to receive his first real taste of human culture.

...

The boy nervously watched the two gothic servants prop his unconscious boss up against a wall by the back entrance.

"He should still be alive. I didn't hit him quite that forceful." Frank said, inspecting his newly fresh tattoo in the wall length mirror. Columbia stood quietly by the front of the room, observing the siblings task of handling the tall, muscular male. She inched closer to the boy.

"Sorry about this," she murmured to him, "we'll be out of ya hair in a little bit."

"Why'd he hit him?" The boy whispered back, afraid of being heard by either of them besides Columbia, the only seemingly approachable one of the group.

"Frank can be...difficult. He just didn't like how the guy was talking."

"Oh." Was the boys only reply.

He let them leave without trouble. Frank and the gang didn't expect it any other way.

On the ride back, Columbia kept asking questions about Frank's newly experienced tattooing.

"The process was a tad anticlimactic. But now I can be referred to as 'boss' to other humans." He chuckled at the last bit, missing the annoyed glances Riff Raff and Magenta exchanged with each other. Columbia smiled at his response, glad to be a big part of this recent adventure. At least they got to get out of the castle.

She turned to Magenta. "So, still don't want one, Mags?"

The domestic sighed heavily. "No, Columbia. I don't need a mark on my body. I don't vant any _piercings_ , either."

Frank turned towards the girls from his seat in the front. "What's this about _piercings_?"

They returned to town the very next night.


End file.
